


Don't Come A-Knockin'

by dieslaudata



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Demonic Possession, M/M, Masturbation, POV Fiddleford, POV Outsider, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieslaudata/pseuds/dieslaudata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford forgets his keys at Stanford's and ends up witnessing a slightly disturbing scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Come A-Knockin'

**Author's Note:**

> I was going back and forth on whether I should tag this as voyeurism and decided not to, since Fiddleford isn't watching for his sexual gratification.

When Fiddleford’s old college buddy had called to ask for his assistance with his newest project, he’d dropped everything and moved to Gravity Falls right away. Ford was one of the most intelligent, capable, and ambitious people he’d ever met. He was going places, and if one of those places was a chapter in a history book, then heck, Fiddleford wanted to be right there with him.

But his initial enthusiasm had wavered over time, and if he had to guess, he’d say that it had declined inversely proportionally to the growing number of triangles in the house. He had just thought of it as a funny quirk at first. After all, Ford had always been into supernatural things. He’d even occasionally dabbled in the occult during college, so the strange symbols in his house, among all the other frankly weird items artifacts he had amassed, had never felt out of place. But then things had gotten out of hand. And the less was said about what his research methods consisted of these days, the better. _Meditating surrounded by focus prisms and candles._ Sure, they usually made a lot of progress afterwards, but Fiddleford couldn’t help worrying about his friend. Maybe it was a cult, maybe it was drugs. Maybe even both, or something else entirely.

That day, Ford had added yet another item to his collection, a statue made of solid gold. God knew where he’d gotten it from.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked as he polished it during their lunch break. Fiddleford chewed his food for a bit longer than necessary. It was hideous. A six-armed version of that one-eyed triangle Ford was so obsessed with.

“A little macabre, I think,” he said and nodded towards the skull it was holding.

Ford just shrugged and kept working. The silence almost ruined Fiddleford’s appetite. Something was very wrong, he could feel it.

“Ford?” he began, a thousand questions on his tongue. “Could you pass me the salt?”

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Fiddleford left. Half an hour later, he went back again. Work had been so exhausting, he had forgotten the keys to his house. And it was just his luck that his wife and son happened to be visiting her parents. At least the light was still on in the kitchen, which alleviated his guilt about bothering his friend at such a late hour.

He knocked. After thirty seconds, he knocked again. A minute passed and he knocked _again_ , calling out Ford’s name. Nothing.

Hesitantly, he opened the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Certainly, Ford wouldn’t mind if he just slipped in for a bit. He quickly found his keys right where he had left them in the morning – by the coffee machine in the kitchen. As he was about to leave, he heard a strange noise, a low groan. His face grew hot when he realized what that meant: Ford had company.

Fiddleford hurried out of the house and practically sprinted to his car, the only other car in the driveway, apart from Ford’s own. That was a little strange, he had to admit, and suddenly he felt pang of worry. What if Ford was injured? What if he needed help? He started pacing back and forth. Ford had never mentioned any relationships, and Fiddleford had only been gone for such a short time. Ford had said he’d go to bed right away…

Taking a deep breath, Fiddleford made a decision. He’d just take a quick peek, just to make sure everything was alright. He couldn’t live with himself if something happened to Ford because he’d been too squeamish to make sure he was okay.

He re-entered the house and tiptoed through the hallway. His moves were only followed by the triangle on the tapestries lining the walls, their golden threads shining ominously in the light that came from the kitchen.

The noise got louder as Fiddleford inched closer to Ford’s break room. The door was already cracked open. Carefully, he pushed it open just a little further.

Ford was alone, on the floor, hunched over. Fiddleford opened his mouth to call his name, but the syllable got stuck in his throat when he noticed the movements of Ford’s arm, accompanied by the quiet sounds of skin rubbing against skin.

Fiddleford clasped a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. His brain was telling him to run, but he was frozen on the spot, his eyes glued to Ford’s back. It was covered in symbols, some of which he recognized from Ford’s study. But by far the most prominent image was, _of course_ , that damn triangle again.

Ford was kneeling in front of his new statue. In the flickering candlelight, it looked even more sinister, its glowing crown of flames giving the impression that it actually was on fire.

“Bill…” Ford suddenly whispered, making Fiddleford jump. This was the first time he had heard Ford mention that name.  A lover? But somehow, it didn’t feel like that. And it wouldn’t warrant that setup.

“We made great progress today, didn’t we, IQ?” Ford said, his voice strange, with a different cadence than usual. “I knew you could do it.”

“Only with your help,” Ford replied to himself breathlessly.

Fiddleford pressed his hand even harder against his mouth, to keep himself from trembling, his teeth from clattering. What had happened to his friend? Sure, he had been acting a bit weird, but this…

“Now, now, don’t sell yourself short,” Ford continued. “I knew I made the right choice when I picked you. You’re the smartest human I've ever met. No one else could accomplish what you did. You are brilliant.”

“Bill!”

Ford’s shoulders trembled as his movements sped up. He came with a gasp, splattering semen over the statue.

Once his heavy breathing had calmed a bit, Ford spoke up again: “You did so well today, smart guy.” He stroked his cheek gently and leaned into the touch.

“Now,” Ford continued, his voice taking on a commanding tone as he dropped his hand again, “clean it.”

Fiddleford’s stomach turned when Ford leaned forward obediently and started licking the fluid off the statue without the slightest hint of hesitation. Soon, the wet noises his tongue and lips made against the metal mixed with quiet moans as he began stroking himself again.

Finally, Fiddleford managed to tear his gaze from this sight. He had to get out of there. Now. His numb legs barely carried him forward. The eyes on the tapestries followed him, out of the house and into his nightmares later that night.

* * *

The next morning, he contemplated calling in sick. Or possibly quitting altogether. In the end, he did neither.

As usual, Ford greeted him with a friendly smile and a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked content and well-rested. Nothing seemed off. Fiddleford didn’t know if that made things easier or harder. He desperately wanted to discuss last night’s events with him. He kept looking for an opportunity to address his concerns, but by the time Ford suggested they called it a day, he had started wondering if he had just thoroughly misinterpreted everything. Perhaps it had just been some sort of sexual roleplaying exercise, absolutely nothing alarming at all, and he’d only cause embarrassment and awkwardness for both of them by bringing it up. Not to mention that he’d have to explain why he had stood there and spied on Ford like some kind of pervert.

“Are you alright?” Ford asked as he walked him to the door. “You seem pretty distracted today.”

This was it, his big chance. He took a deep breath. “Ford, I just wanted you to know that… if there’s something wrong, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

He couldn’t bring himself to actually mention it. But he wanted to offer his support, just in case.

“I really appreciate that,” Ford said, attempting a smile despite his frown. “But I can assure you that everything’s fine. Never been better, actually!”

Fiddleford nodded nervously. “Well, until tomorrow, then!”

He’d already turned around when Ford put a hand on his shoulder.

“Just one more thing,” he said, with that voice that sounded like his and yet so wrong, and Fiddleford’s blood turned to ice. There was a metallic jingle. “You forgot your keys. Again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think a lot about all the weird stuff poor Fiddleford must have seen while working for Ford.


End file.
